


A Shot of Whiskey

by waydurie



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Dirty Thoughts, John Watson is totally gay, M/M, Seductive Sherlock, Sherlock Makes Deductions
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-07
Updated: 2014-07-07
Packaged: 2018-02-07 22:06:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 12,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1915587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waydurie/pseuds/waydurie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>John looks really pitiful going out to the bar all alone and the cane wasn't really helping him attract any of the ladies. What he didn't know is that he really isn't into women as he thought and a certain detective has had his eye on him the whole evening. What will happen after Sherlock deduces John's most recent catch?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Shot of Whiskey

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read this and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I did writing it. This is not beta'd so any mistakes are mine. Please don't be afraid to leave comments on what you think or even prompts if you are looking for any particular Johnlock (or Mystrade) fan fictions.

John stared at the bottom of his empty whiskey glass, swirling the last ice cube that was melting into a puddle of water rather pitifully.

He would've considered buying another drink to completely numb his senses but he still needed to pay the cab ride home. Not to mention, his body wasn't as used to alcohol now like in his military days.

It was quite sad how John had been invalided from Afghanistan two years ago and he has yet managed to settle into civilian life. He thought it was his stubborn brain refusing to let go of the past but the more incredulous part of his brain said it was for a reason. He just had to be patient and wait for his time to come. Bloody hell like he was going to wait. John was sick and tired of waking up to cold sweats in the middle of the night or tripping over a cane for a limp he wasn't supposed to have.

So, here he was, Saturday night at a bar trying to get a decent bird to fall into bed with him... and he was a sulking mess.

His head was propped up on his elbows and he kept his gaze fixed onto the scratched counter hoping to avoid catching the occasional sympathetic look from other patrons from the corner of his eyes.

_How embarrassing!_ John was furious with his weakness. _Where did the man who invaded Khadgar with only a sidearm and a medicine pack disappear to?_

John was --is, he is a man. A strong, brave man who did indeed go through rigorous life altering experiences.

John decided that he needed to mingle or at least try to enjoy himself this evening. Newfound courage pulsed through his strained veins as he ridiculously straightened his back and cleared his throat. How hard can it actually be? John reason with himself. Everything would go absolutely fine.

John rolled his head a several times and cracked his knuckles taking steady breaths between each pep-talk.

**_You can do this, Watson!_ **

**_You, John Watson, have game, remember Three Continents Watson._ **

**_All you have to do is..._ **

When John actually turned around to face the bar scene, he became numb from the intense jolt of fear that stuck him straight in the heart. His ancient heart simply couldn't take such blundering stimuli.

Almost as quickly as he had exposed himself to the crowd, John now faced the bartender who while wiping the wooden counter held a face of irritation. John hadn't ordered another drink since his first and he was selfishly occupying a prime seat at the bar. John, however, found that being glued to the creaking wooden stool was his best option really.

He discreetly cast another glance around the room in search for a lady suitable to his preferences. A nice girl whose easy to look at and can keep up a pleasant conversation with him. Simple. He wasn't looking for the next Miss Universe.

Because the last thing John really needed was to add onto his list of never-ending defaults was a puncture ego all because he decided to fancy the girl he had no chance of even talking to.

Stupid. John cursed profusely for pushing his limits. He was clearly far from ready to join any atmosphere that involves heavy drinking and inebriate fools but his mates (more like people-I-see-when-I-have-nothing-to-do mates...?) had convinced him it would be a great experience. Fuck them when they used the two years of hiding against John.

_Get it together!_ Since his head was already swimming in the beat of the heavy pounding of music and the lingering burn of whiskey, he might as well finish what he started. And if that meant reaching the point in where he wants to dig his own grave, well then so be it.

Out of the corner of his eyes, John saw a group of chatty blondes that were giggling in the corner and speaking with slightly grating nasal voices. John was easily more than fifteen years their senior, perhaps even old enough to be a father to one of the girls. But due to poor lighting and caked on makeup, John would've never known there was an age difference to begin with.

They could've looked attractive...if they were placed in a dark room and wiped clean of the orange tan that was sprayed on rather unevenly.

It was in that moment John realized just how many brain cells those women were missing.They purposely chose to wear micro-skirts to show off their ridiculously fake tan...in the middle of England's harshest winter.

John might've been looking for company (a deaf girl would do), but he wouldn't stoop low enough to risk a pedophile accusation. Or worse, a midlife crisis. John had enough incriminating grey hairs for people to start questioning his motives.

John quickly dispelled the idea of taking any blondes home for the night. He guessed he better start looking again if he was trying to be successful to any degree.

Standing besides a shelf of memorabilia far from the obnoxious girls, a more mature brunette stood rather languidly by the wall. She had a halo of tight curls that rested above her shoulder.    
As she looked around the bar --just like John was doing-- he suddenly felt a fluttering sense of excitement awaken in the pit of his stomach. He hoped that the woman would meet his gaze and signal him over.

John cringed slightly at the fact that she too fell under the _'do you not have any common sense, it is the middle of fucking winter'_ club dressed in a blue knee length dress that cinched at her curvaceous her waist but she looked rather fit.

John tried to picture the delicate caramel skin under the thin fabric of her dress. His goal wasn't to be flagged as a pervert so he kept his outer displays to a minimum. Strangely, he wasn't going through his usual ritual when he found a woman that interested him.

But John still admired her beauty and thoroughly ran through the precise steps he would take if presented with the chance to act upon his urges.

Yet again he felt the niggling sensation whisper into his ear. John was practically undressing the poor girl across the room but he has yet felt the spark that initiates the blood rushing towards his lower stomach.

_Perhaps it's just been too long since you've been on this kind of field. Everything will be fine, no need to worry. You're a man and there's no doubt about it, you have more than enough ladies to confirm that, don't you?_

John's self-talks were becoming even more pathetic and derogatory as the seconds passed. _Damn. You need to get laid, and quick!_

The brunette was still oblivious to John's interested or disturbingly desperate (depends on how you want to look at it) gaze when she began waving at someone across the room. When it seemed that she had caught the person's attention, she gave them a toothy smile and John became exposed to the horrible truths of the reality at the bar.

What used to be a hopeful conquest resulted with at the very least four missing teeth on the maxilla while the rest looked as if they were crowding each other. All of her teeth were stained a deep yellow and ground into nubs.

John might've received his PH.D but he couldn't preform miracles like a dentist might with plaster and false teeth. A blind child would've told you that her mouth could be the next possible host of rare parasites that have gone extinct eons ago.

The brunette crossed the room to meet what John assumed was her friend. Oh boy was he wrong. Remind him not to assume things when the world has managed to advance drastically in the last couple of years.

They roughly grabbed each others face and started showing an obscene amount of tongue and chapped lips right in the middle of the bar near John's seat. The smell of cigarette smoke punched John straight in his face as the two women continued their erotic escapades. _Well that would explain the state of her teeth,_ grumbled John, he was annoyed that the first decent woman he was actually willing to talk to was already taken and by a women.

_Well, to each their own,_ John shrugged, there was nothing he could do at this point. Although he was secretly wishing the couple could choose a more discrete place to swap saliva and not scar John with the excessive amount of moaning and popping noises.

It didn't exactly bother John that they were lesbian. How could it? His own sister was a lesbian thank you very much. And John was extremely proud of Clara's and her's relationship, in fact, he was the one who told them they should go on a first date.

John just wasn't used to the pace of this decade yet, perhaps by the next he would be all caught up with all the iPhones and tabloids that sprout everyday.

Truthfully, John wasn't the tinniest bit bothered that the women he had found planned to ravish turned out to be very lesbian (if you go by how far her tongue is shoved down her partner's mouth) and a chain smoker. He was actually quite relieved that the universe had presented him with an excuse for his manly pride not to take a deathly blow by refusing a perfectly sound candidate.

_Okay, John this might have gone south but there are still plenty other fish in the sea._

With newfound machismo fueling his every action, John stepped off of his stool with his hands balled up on his hips. His chin was angled to the side and he raised his eyebrows defiantly. John thought he looked like a down right catch and if things went right, by the end of the night, women should be tripping over their feet to get a glimpse at his strong muscles, and defined chest...that may have begun to soften and sag from lack of exercise. Or was it because he was eating a roll of biscuits a day and ordering take out every other day (cooking was not something they taught you in the desert heat of Afghanistan).

John shot a peripheral view at the now more populated room and began eliminating unlikely partners. Not that John was being selective to any race or color, but he based his decision more on his type and if they could be a compatible pair. John at this point would've taken anyone home with him to prove the old John Watson is still alive somewhere inside of him. It may be buried deep under scared tissue and bloodied sand but he needed to find his old self.

Also, John had to be reasonable as he couldn't include the younger eighteen year olds into his list of possible shags.

When his eyes spotted the currently occupied corner booth, he straightened his belt buckle and silently thanked anyone that considered John's prayers worthy enough to take into consideration

They presented him with a god send when his eyes fell on silky, golden hair cascading down and elegant shoulder. Her eyes were lightly lined with makeup while the rest of her face was left untouched --natural beauty, such a rare trait to find these days. John's heartbeat was strangely calm and subdued when it should've doubled in speed exposed to this level of demure loveliness.

She was extremely focused on her phone but John pass it off as those games (apps are they called) the younger people play with to ward off unwanted company in social situations.

John felt better when he saw her bright green eyes reflected back from the illumination of the phone screen, and he really tried not to image the sparkle in her eyes when she were to laugh at one of John's outdated jokes.

But the best part the of all, she was sitting all alone in a two persons booth and there was no sign of there being another person with her.

_Oh John Watson, you have got yourself a mighty fine catch. A mighty fine catch indeed. He smirked to himself, mentally patting himself on the back._

He lifted his shoulders to appear taller and smoothed the crinkles that formed on his cardigan. Running his hands through his straw colored hair trying to tame any rebellious strands.

He was about to take his first step towards the pretty little bird in the corner when he heard the rumble of a deep, rich voice. "Don't waste your time. She's waiting for her fiancé. If my timing is correct, he should arrive in the next three minutes."

John froze mid-stride (damn! I was just starting to get back into the game) and slowly turned to face the mysterious voice. He had to remind himself how to breath not comprehending how he had managed to attract a masterpiece to talk to him.

One glance was all it took for John to haul his arse back onto the stool he had been hogging for several hours now and firmly plant his feet on the support beam. (John would be mortified if his feet would have to dangle for the duration of their conversation. Even though the man is seated, his feet are planted on the ground so he must be exceptionally tall.)

Nope, there was no way he was moving from his seat now. Not that he had such a strong incentive to remain exactly where he was.

Could anyone possibly be that gorgeous? It is entirely impossible. John refused to believe such heavenliness existed in the world. Looks like he had pulled the short straw and had been given one of reject bodies and destined to be trapped in the confines of a bedsit for two years now.

_Whoa, John Watson, since when have you been a swinger?_ Well... going by the brick wall that had been bulldozed under no protest and resistance all with one glance of the addicting man. And the sudden flood of the delicious warmth that was singing happily and freely through John's lower half. He would say right about now.

John would not rest until that man was added to the list of world wonders. His mine was a mess, all of his thoughts were jumbled but the only thing that made sense was the deep voice that kept pulling him out of the dark corners of his mind.

No wonder John never felt attracted to any of those malfunctioning gorillas that call themselves men. All they do is parade around with their egos or bludgeon you with designer clothes until you can only speak in terms of couture.

John was now officially confused, however, not terribly so if he was being honest (which he was...well he was trying his best). John worried his bottom lip as his brain worked on sorting the mild disorder that continue bouncing around in the cavity of his skull.

His whole life, scratch that, mere seconds ago he had been chasing after girls, taking them out on dates followed by a detailed demonstration of the backseat of his car. Panting, chest rising and falling in unison as the stared above at the starry night.

He had fantasized about the smoothness of their skin, warm and curvy under his hand as he cupped one of their ample breasts. He had enjoyed the tight, wet heat as he thrusted himself deeply to bring them the ultimate pleasure known to human kind. Imagining their demanding moans and begging pleas to come always did a number on John's arousal, but now he felt indifferent to their whines. He started picturing lower pitched grunts as they rutted against him and a small sparkle of intrigue woke every single one of his senses.

When a man has the ability to squash the memories of a heterosexual man and all of his desires and sexual preferences and actually replace them with his bloody symmetrical features, John found himself tongue tied.

John had a sudden and urgent homosexual itch he desperately wanted to scratch and if it meant joining the dark side, at least he could get better fashion tips now. He wanted to laugh at how ironic life could be. Just earlier he was studying and commenting the female couple and now it was him turn to bat for the other team.

John loathed the sex hair look that people went around sporting these days, like it was a good thing to show to the world _'look at me, I just got shagged in an alley.'_ What was the point really?

But when he saw the debauched looking cocoa curls fixed with a precise chaos, he found himself making an exception with a rule he had firmly applied to every single one of his dates. However, if this man thinks he will let anything else slide then he is wrong. On no, John would not go breaking all of his rules for one guy he had just met, what two minutes ago. Yeah like thats ever going to happen. John knew that he had fallen victim to the love bug and that early symptoms were already presenting themselves.

The man's tousled curls framed flawless porcelain skin that stretched over angular cheekbones. John was convinced he would reach an early grave if he didn't get to smooth his fingers along the stranger's milky complexion or trace the indent of his cupid bow that dipped into an abyss of perfection. John would find it an honor to lose a finger or two cutting himself on the man's cheekbones. So sculpted and precise that they cast shadows on his face adding an air of danger and mystery to him.

And then he had to go and choke like the idiot he is when he their eyes met for the first time. Oh god his eyes, _curse_ his beautiful, incredible, breathtaking eyes. There has to be some sort of law somewhere --anywhere that prohibits people so gorgeous to leave their houses and make the rest of the city feel incredibly inferior to them.

His eyes were infinite galaxies, were time disintegrates into ashes and smoke, corrupting John's heart gradually with their mercurial color. John felt his resolve shattering until all he wanted to do was lamely hand himself as a whole into the palm of the man. Then, John would beg for him to take mercy and await the deliciously cruel punishments awaiting him. The lord must've sent this heavenly creature to punish John for being becoming a recluse after a whole life of interaction and friends, however, the punishment seemed extremely unorthodox for someone who preaches forgiveness. John wasn't complaining. He was just making observations.

"What do you mean?" John stammered once he had managed to gather every iota of courage stored within him. Technically, the stranger _had_ talked to him first, John was just being ever so polite (and horny) by continuing the conversation.

His curls fell forward onto his forehead when he chuckled, pale, spindly fingers tucked the rouge hair behind his ears. John did **_not_** , absolutely did **_not_** hear wedding bells ring loudly in his ears or picture smartly dressed guest showering them with uncooked rice as they walked down the aisle.

"I mean, if you want to waste your time pinning after a woman that is approximately seven years younger than you and promised to wed, then be my guest." Sherlock demonstrated with his hand subtly to the woman who was now being joined by a quite attractive (and humongous) man who sat across from her.

John wanted to be sick from the scent of Almost-wed Love that radiated from the cloyingly sweet smiles that blossomed on their faces. They held hands above the table and that was enough to validate that the man had been truthful in his rant, it had not been a trick to get his attention away from the girl and onto him.

John was fascinated. Actually, had no clue on how to process what he had just witnessed. He realized how mentally challenged he must've looked with his jaw wide open and eyes bulging out of his head. _John Watson, only you have the ability to screw things up this badly._

"I had no idea." It was but a released whisper, more of an after thought on John's part.

"I suggest spending your time with more interesting partners. Find one that is more to your likings. One you cannot resist possibly. They could be sitting in this room for all you know. Life is short, why not take a risk I say." What was that? Was being a suggestive bastard or offering some friendly dating advice? He has to be younger than John so he must know about modern day relationships.

_Fuck,_ John was close to cursing everyone to hell when he saw the man give him a playful smirk but quickly look away to the engaged couple.

"What makes you think I have a type?" John asked suggestively. "Do you know her by any chance?" He then asked out of curiosity.

"No, I don't know her, but what I do know is that there's an expensive ring on her left ring finger but no tan line --recently engaged. She has yet to put down her phone possibly because she's waiting for someone to contact her or say they're on their way. Her hair --actually, the woman herself. She looks presentable to people who don't know her but she would never meet her friends looking like that. Look at her bag, her shoes, same designer, so she has to care enough about her appearance to buy expensive brands that are currently in season. However, not enough to accessorize on a quiet night out, again her friends would never accept her in this state of weakness as they would call it. She either had no need to impress the person she came to see or had to be extremely comfortable in their presence greeting them in a brand-less jean and a shirt that cost her less than a tenner. Therefore, I concluded it had to be a fiancé as you see ow sitting across the table from her. "

"I'm sorry, just-." John shook his head in disbelief. He lifted his hand out to the man as if he were asking him to stop. However, John wasn't asking him to stop, it was the opposite but he needed a few seconds to masticate and process the spectacular human before him. When he looked into the man's eyes, he saw an unnerving blank stare with small specks of regret. "That was...the most incredible thing I've ever heard. Bloody hell. The way you just...then when you explained that thing with her hair...Fuck!"

"Really? You think so?" The man cocked his head to the side causing a wave of curls to spill onto the other side of his head. John pictured a headful of damp curls under the dim bedroom lights as they cling to his creamy skin from the intense heat of room flooded with the intention of sex.

"Yes." John sternly nodded, his eyes serious with both arms tightly spun across his chest. "Just incredible, brilliant even. I don't have the words to describe how unbelievable that was, but mate, you have a gift." _More than one gift if you ask me,_ John added in his head taking another cursory glance of the man's stature. Bad John, just as you are complimenting him on his extraordinary talents, you have to go and ruin it by checking him out. Well he always was attracted to brains and beauty, so John Watson has officially won the lottery ladies and gentlemen. You can all go home now. Thank you very much, have a nice day.

"That's not what people usually say." The man tried to keep a smile on his face but the corner of his lips were weighed down with bad memories.

"What do they usually say?" John asked in a non-invasive tone just incase the man felt he didn't need to share such a personal question with an actual stranger.

"Something along the lines of piss off when they're in a forgiving mood." John met the eyes of a man who has had to oppress a natural talent for far too long. And the sad part was he had mastered acting nonchalant when broaching the subject followed up with a minute shrug of the shoulders.

John became so enraged at the confession that red dots began to cloud his vision. He swore to personally hospitalize the next person that upsets his man no matter how inconsequential the insult might be. This man was a treasure, a rare one in fact and he should be treated rightfully so. The fact that he has to go around being bullied by fucking twats didn't sit well in John's stomach.

"Well, those people are idiots. How can they not appreciate your brilliant talents when it's so rare to see people these days actually use their brains? Please don't listen to those asshats." Once the words were out of John's mouth he realized it was a bit too late to possibly edit his words to sound less like a crushing school girl. He should probably fetch the shovel and started digging a hole to hide in.

John looked everywhere but at the man before him, he fidgeted with his collar quite childishly. He was extremely embarrassed of his tongue slip still and was waiting for the inevitable rejection. Why couldn't he have a thought filter like normal people?

"Asshats? Hmm, that's one way to put it. " Arctic blue eyes caught onto John's with a teasing gleam. They locked onto each other only held by the thin thread of mutual admiration. Poor John was consumed by the pitch black shadows of lust. His mouth and brain refused to co-operate with each other leaving him mute. He was in a strange and unknown position and instead of fearing the unexpected, he desperately waited for each second to pass.

The man didn't associate John's radio silence as sign of disinterest, actually the opposite. He saw it as an encouragement to continue leaving John on the edge of his seat. "You were in the military a few years ago, invalidated out from sustained injuries.." It was supposed to sound more like a question but the man sounded so certain he could have been reading it off of a paper.

"Oh! Yeah, I was in the RAMC. How did you-" John sputtered incredulously, but before he could finish his question, the man was already piecing the rest of his life together from the dust motes surrounding them.

"An army doctor, huh? Seen a lot of injuries then; I suppose violent deaths as well. Only war England has been actively fighting with in the past several years has been Afghanistan. The stiffness and lack of mobility in you left shoulder says you were shot on the battlefield facing away from your shooter. Even though you have bags under your eyes -- dead give aways to PTSD-- and the tremor in your left hand, you refuse to listen to your therapist. If it weren't for your parents, you wouldn't attend physical therapy-" John stared at the man for several life altering seconds before he started giggling.

"That right there, that was truly one of the most memorable moments in my whole life. Cheers, mate!" John held his hand out to the stranger and thought this was a proper segue to finally introduce himself. His whole life _had_ already been spilled into the empty space between them but the man was still sitting before him so he must be doing something right. "I'm John, John Watson."

"Sherlock Holmes." He sniffed with an air of importance as if he were trying to impress John with his posh voice and regal stature. What Sherlock didn't know was that the good doctor was already hooked on his ridiculous curls and milky face. He had been ever since they first spoke. "And I can hardly say that merits such importance in the life of a man who invaded Afghanistan. I merely stated facts from the physical evidence I collected."

Sherlock pointedly ignored John's proffered hand but John wanted to believe he saw the faintest of blushes creep up Sherlock's face. Instead Sherlock decided to antagonize the lust-struck John until he would become submissive to Sherlock's enigmatic character. But John would never let Sherlock get away with such a power play this early in their whatever-you-want-to-call-it and especially without a fight.

At first, Sherlock's cool, calculating blue eyes, penetrated deep into John's steeled expression --well, as steeled as he could when he had intense eyes roaming his face. Sherlock soon realized John was amused with the sudden switches in character while he remained calm and collected, no signs of distress anywhere on his face. Sherlock's eyes softened into the elixir of colors that John wouldn't have minded getting drunk on for the rest of his life. When Sherlock tried to find a suitable partner during his nights out in between cases, he tended to search for men who would fall at their knees at his every command and cater to his ever whim. But he didn't need another flaky, pushover in his life if he intended to maintain a relationship of any sort with them (which he intended to do with John since the beginning). He also didn't need someone who would determine his every move and tell him what he could or couldn't do. He wanted a balanced partner to keep him in line and not expect him to change who he is.

"So bloody incredible you are." John blushed a vivid red that went from the center of his cheeks and disappeared beneath the knitted jumper. He was a man entering middle age but here he was fawning over Sherlock like a school girl. But when he thought about it, this man deserved to know how extraordinary he was. If no one had the decency to tell Sherlock the truth, John would happily take on the role. "You can't be real, it's not possible being so, so..."

It could've been the shot of whiskey John had earlier that was turning his brave, beating heart into mush conspire with a pair of loose lips. But quite frankly, John would never regret complimenting Sherlock Holmes, it could never happen.

Sherlock breathed in deeply with a semblance of incredulity. When he sighed, Sherlock and John had unconsciously moved towards each other that John picked up the faint scent of mint gum that he probably used to cover the distinct smell of tobacco. John felt an electric shock run through his body, his heart went wild with mixed emotions as it frantically pounded against his rib cage.

John came closer to the realization Sherlock (especially his essence) was starting to become an addiction of his. But when his mind reconnected and he had the fortune (well, his body didn't thank him after that but...) saw Sherlock with his dusty pink lips slightly parted as if they were waiting for something in specific. John's previously galloping heart stopped its dancing and pulsing of its urgent beat and flashes like a strobe of violent unforgiving colors blinded his vision, tattooing themselves behind his slowly blinking eyes.

Soft, plush lips were inches from John's own unyielding, thin lips that haven't been used in a few months...okay, maybe it was more like a few years. An insignificant distance had John's senses numb but trembling with anticipation. If the wind were to gently breath on him now, him would find himself with a exquisite mouthful of Sherlock. The very thought of actually kissing Sherlock instead of it simply being a figment of his imagination wasn't unnerving to John, just very overwhelming. He had never had a male partner and wasn't quite sure what to expect but it can't be that different than kissing a women, right? He straightened his back and put more distance between Sherlock's lips and his to show some confidence.

John wanted to see how long he could kiss Sherlock before those rosy lips were swollen and raw. Until those stupid lips John would never forget hungered, yearned, ached for John to ravage them and claim them as his. Until Sherlock cried out when John nibbled on his sensitive lips oh so gently and moved onto marking his neck different shades of purple and red.

He wanted, no, needed to snog Sherlock senseless. He wanted people to envy the perfect ebb and flow of desire that passed through them (well, that's what John hoped). John was willing to consider Sherlock's input on the matter of his debauchment, but only when his heart began to sing the song of fates game ** _._ _..JohnJohnJohnJohn._**

John found it quite amusing that when given the choice to have an easy fuck, no strings attached, he sat very comfortably looking into the eyes of the man he was planning an imaginary future with.

He didn't want to fuck Sherlock Holmes into his uncovered mattress at the bedsit and treat him like a one night stand/sexuality crisis. He wanted to lay soft, lingering kisses on every inch of his body while he listens to the man talk about everything under the sun.

John wanted to feel Sherlock's endless ivory thighs, nip at the snowy white skin and watch the crimson marks blossom under his fingertips. He wanted to watch a pornographic moan slip from those plush lips that was only meant for John's ears as Sherlock bucked his hips with feline fluidity to meet John's aching cock.

_Yep._ John thought. _I'm probably never going to forget Sherlock now and have perverted fantasies of a man I met at a bar once for the rest of my life. And I'll probably be a shirt-lifter for too, there's no way I'm going back to girls after witnessing this. And if I thought getting a date before was hard, good luck now, mate. The playing field for gay men is fiercer than killing men at war especially for someone who has just come out of the closet (if you can call it that), and I would know._

Every position he had imagined himself sinking into the deep silky heat of Sherlock and vice versa properly confirmed that John would be put off sex any other way. If his partner didn't have a long, slender shaft buried deep inside him then it just wouldn't be sex. Come to think of it, John wanted to feel the weight of a cock throbbing in his hands as it steadily drips precome from the slit of the head. He wanted to feel the lack of oxygen affect his thinking as he is swallowing the arousal of his partner bringing them closer to climax with every lick, with every suck. The gentle teasing of his partners balls to send him over the edge and feel the stripes of pleasure wash over his body, showing his competence and skill.

How had he settled for women's buxom features when the narrow waist, lean hips and long, muscular thighs of men were much more promising and exciting, not to mention Sherlock's in particular. John wouldn't go as far as to say he regretted his female partners since he had never experimented with a male partner to compare the experience to. He was comparing the differences in the sex between genders from the occasional gay porn he watched (for experimental reasons of course). And his brain soundly came to the conclusion that adding another erection to the equation equaled hotter, mind blowing sex. Who needed the complicated beast that is the women's vagina with all the nerve endings and stimulus points when he could get off on something familiar. Closer to home.

John made another discovery in a matter of nanoseconds when he realized that if things with Sherlock did work out, the man would never be a bar fling in the army man's mind. Sherlock had been special from their first exchange of words and years from now, John know that will still remain to be true.

Sherlock's pearly skin glistened under the subtle bar lights. John still had a ravenous desire to drink in the lanky but sinuous man before him but he tried his very best to control his libido. His eyes wandered from the tip of Sherlock's fingers to the expensive looking buttons that were threatening to burst under the strain of Sherlock's firm chest. He wore an aubergine shirt and John felt close to tears thinking about a particular fingers frantically unleashing the beauty of the pale chest beneath.

The colored shirt was tucked into the waistband of a pair of black trousers which gave John the opportunity to see the beautiful outline of his narrow torso. He immediately pictured his hands again, now grabbing onto deliciously slender hips with a bruising force, yet tenderly and adoringly rub smooth circles with his thumbs as they swayed in lazy circles to a nameless ballad that would forever be their song.

John felt disappointed when he had to shake the fantasy out of his head. It was so domestic and incredibly right he couldn't bear to think that after tonight he would have to go back to a one room apartment that he paid with an army pension.

Then he also disgustingly realized he had a raging erection causing havoc in his pants on the thought of this poor man who was simply trying to make small talk with him. (In his defense, Sherlock was sort of, technically, possibly, flirting with him).

_Settle down, Watson! What's gotten into you. That's no way for a gentleman --much less a man who served for his country-- to behave in public. You must apologize this instant. His army reasoning instantly inserted itself into the front of John's brain and tried to straighten the chaos of dirty images._

When he gathered his wits in order to apologize to Sherlock for his unspeakable actions, he saw oceanic eyes swallowed whole and glazed over by a veil of emotion almost like John's were seconds ago as he raked over every detail of Sherlock's body. _Would you look at that! He's looking at me now! Wait! Hold on! How do I look?!_

He ran a hand through his hair nervously wanting to look presentable for Sherlock's inspection. Have to look your best when your facing a greek adonis. Not that he needed to impress the man or change his looks for anyone, but he wanted to give Sherlock a reason to keep talking to him. There were plenty of prettier and younger faces Sherlock could be talking to, he could be doing so much better than him. _Please don't let him leave._

And yeah, okay, maybe a part of him did want Sherlock to feel attracted to him enough to move onto some innocent flirting. Oh god, John realized how it would completely shatter his heart (dreams, ego, life, you name it) if Sherlock were to get up and leave at any moment. (Oh, and leave him to deal with the throbbing situation in his pants that only seemed to thicken as the seconds ticked on).

Their staring contest lasted several more seconds, the sexual tension was so thick, John's iron-hard erection wouldn't have scratched the surface. John wriggled in his seat to see if he could lessen the friction of clothing rubbing against his sensitive cock. He tested numerous positions that had proven useful in his teen years when he was forced to efficiently hide unexpected hard ons.

When he finally settled on a disturbed looking leg cross after many 'discrete' shifts and low grunts, John noticed Sherlock had been paying close attention to his seated dance. John felt every cell in his body ignite, explode, and then shrivel up and die in the corner of shame and punishment. His cheeks went alit when Sherlock took one look at John's noticeably tented pants and waved the bartender over with the flourish of his hand.

"Bring me two _orgasms_ , hold the cream." Sherlock said every word obscenely and when he emphasized what John was so desperately trying to prevent in his pants, John confirmed that a higher power was definitely ignoring his silent pleas to rid himself of embarrassment. His cock lurched forward and pulse, it ached, and screamed at John to pay attention hopelessly. John was rapidly reaching the point where the need of physical contact with Sherlock began overpowering every other thought.

In mute agreement, the barkeep nodded and turned to prepare their drinks. Wait. Was an orgasm even a drink sold in bars? Sherlock wouldn't order something as ridiculous as that to make a point and certainly he wouldn't have paid a bartender to play along with him. Would he?

John truly believed that if he managed to divert his attention from Sherlock for more than two seconds, perhaps he could convince more stubborn body parts to cease their acts of mutiny. So he solely paid attention to the seasoned hands of the barman as he filled two old fashioned glasses with a healthy dose of Kahlúa liqueur.

But John still felt Sherlock's laser blue eyes pointed straight at the side of his face. What could possibly be so interesting about me? John wanted to scream and shake Sherlock's shoulders for an answer. This magnificent creature was acting as if John were a rarity in the universe, something that has never been seen before. When in fact it was the other way around. John couldn't tell a person's career by the way they stood or diagnose them with trauma by the bags under their eyes. Hell he couldn't even stand for too long without toppling over or feeling bolts of pain attack his flabby muscle.

A minute later, both men were nursing a cool glass with a drink that looked much like a glass of milk with the exception of smelling suspiciously nutty with whiskey undertones. John felt his nerve endings fizzle because he had now run out of distractions since the drink had been placed in his hands. He had to somewhat focus on Sherlock and there was no way around it. Well, unless he wanted to come off as a Class A jerk and ignore the man who had just bought him a drink.

Sherlock played with the tumbler between his long, thin fingers swirling the liquor much like John had done at the beginning of the night. John wanted to show Sherlock he could be daring and wasn't afraid to put himself up for a challenge if you know what he means, so he took an experimental sip from the chilled glass to comment on the flavor. Going by Sherlock's face, he was as reluctant as John to taste what was in the cup. Surprisingly, it was a pleasant creamy but bold flavor that his tired, old taste buds picked up making him feel younger than the age he currently was (and would never admit to anyone, not even to himself to avoid humiliation).

John set his drink down on the counter, "Nice, this drink. Good choice, really. Do you get off... I mean get it often?" And there goes John making an utter fool of himself once again with his jittery movements and illiterate wording. Sherlock is going to begin thinking he had the vocabulary of a three year old in speech therapy, John frowned slightly. Sherlock smirked as he sensed the blond's distress and his microscopic heart ached deliciously for the constant sentimental attachment. Sherlock tasted the 'orgasm' as well to raise a point while raising an amused eyebrow.

"Not gonna lie, I took a big risk when I ordered this." Sherlock inched closer to John with a cheshire grin, he stopped when John was only able to see Sherlock's eyes and delectable cheekbones. "I've never ordered it before tonight, but you just inspire me, John. You _do_ things to me, unspeakable things. For example, ordering liquid porn and intentionally breaking every single one of my rules on personal space."

Sherlock separated from John with an impish smile branded his sinful lips. John felt a pang of disappointment shatter every bone in his body when they returned to their regular seating positions but he shivered when he fully processed Sherlock's words. Did he really have that big of an effect on Sherlock to make him go out of his comfort zone? John lives in an apartment that has mould crawling up the corners of every wall. Again, how was he special enough to 'inspire' --as said by Sherlock-- a man that can buy clothes that are worth more than his monthly army pension. Sherlock would be the death of the good doctor, he could already feel his heart skipping a beat every few minutes or so. And if that were to happen, John would make sure to haunt his skinny arse in whatever life came next.

"Oh, um, I'm sorry?" What was John supposed to say to Sherlock? There was literally nothing he could say that would sound remotely as hot and seductive as what Sherlock had said. Sherlock had clearly won this round (not that he was keeping score or anything. John wasn't that type of man) and John knew when he had been defeated. So he responded like the Englishman he was and apologized for some unknown reason that he was still trying to figure out. Damn it! Sherlock was as confusing as they come but instead of complaining, John knew it was exactly why he'd been drawn to him in the first place. As they say, opposites attract.

"No need to be sorry, John. It was a rather illuminating and exhilarating risk, actually." John drank more of his orgasm(?) when he heard that and curiously rose an eyebrow.

"Is that so?" Sherlock's eyes were first focused solely on him as if he were studying John a final time. In finality, the gaze of the sapphire pools lowered hungrily to focus on John's lips.

"Quite. I uncovered scintillating results that induced specific curiosities that need immediate testing." A pink tongue peaked out of Sherlock's mouth as it slowly licked the bottom lip John had been longing to declare as his. "Perhaps more than I initially thought."

"And what exactly were your results? If you don't mind me asking, what exactly needs to be tested? If it involves any legwork I may need to reconsider. I'm not so great at walking when sober so you can imagine me after a few drinks" John rambled comically making small jokes about himself to ease his worries. Luckily, he was finally feeling the slow burn of the alcohol loosen his limbs and most importantly his tense thinking. He was surprised how he had been able to follow any of the conversation considering his...situation without the alcohol's numbing power and Sherlock's constant teasing. Being a man on the brink of middle age and the owner of a cock that's willful than Harry was truly devastating.

"Mmm. You really want to know don't you?" Sherlock's sultry voice lowered an octave deeper and John had to do considerate damage control by pressing the heel of his palm to the front his trousers.

_Fuck you,_ Sherlock Holmes. Oh how I wish that was true. Sherlock flashed him a naughty grin but gave no indication that he was going to reveal the supposedly earth shattering results. All he did was throw back another swig of his drink and leave John floundering about when the skin around his Adam's apple became taut.

John then discovered the most logical reason for the extinction of dinosaurs and all pre-historic animals. Precisely why the Ice Age and the world froze over, the world separating into separate empires.

Out of the right corner of Sherlock's mouth were a few stray drops from when he last drank from his glass of the --dare he say-- orgasm. It was difficult to notice if he weren't constantly obsessing over the mouth of another person because John would never do that. No, he simply noticed the extra drops because of his sharp eyesight and excellent focus. If he was going to learn something from the sixteen hour stake outs, why not learn how to take in every detail of your surroundings including the lips of your company, right? _Oh Watson of course you were ogling his mouth, at least be a man and admit it. Have some dignity._

The similarity of color between Sherlock's complexion and the drink would make it very suspicious if he were to mention his findings, so he found himself in a teeny tiny problem. If he reached out to wipe it off for Sherlock and crossed the line of intimacy, John was certain Sherlock wouldn't stick around, he didn't seem like the type. Sherlock even said it himself that he had broken his own rule on personal space.

But what if John was the exception? If he failed to warn Sherlock of those dewy drops and Sherlock had deliberately done it to see how he would react, what would it say about John and his interest in Sherlock? Of course he was interested in Sherlock, that man was the exception to the laws of nature. But will a specimen so exquisite actually going to accept a dull, ordinary man into his life?

Sherlock broke the silent pause. John was extremely thankful for his assertiveness as he was currently entering a level of over-contemplation he hadn't reached since his uni days. "My results are quite fascinating considering I began with a hypothesis on whether men of any age have the ability to accept their sexual needs or if they would refuse pleasure in order to maintain a semblance of normality" John nodded to tell Sherlock he was following along when actually all he could feel was his blood burning underneath his skin. Hearing Sherlock talk so astutely should be illegal along with a list of many other things and John would see that those laws would be passed.

"And you, John Watson, you have passed my test, which I assure, is quite a challenge. Very few people have been able to impress me, but you, John, have captivated me. And I can't figure out why. So now, you deserve a special reward." John felt his heartbeat steadily increased as if it were running away from him and into the hands of one Sherlock Holmes.

Then Sherlock grasped John's right hand in between his cool fingers and jesus christ, in that moment, John felt as if he could taste the colors of the rainbow and see the sounds that thrummed in his sensitive ears. "Don't think I haven't seen you looking at women all night. Trying to find one to bring her home. Maybe enjoy a quick shag, but that's not what you want, not what you need." Sherlock used the pad of his thumb to rub smooth circles on John's knuckles.

"You've never thought about experimenting with a man before tonight." Sherlock laced their fingers together and brought their joint hands a breadths widths away from his mouth. John let out a very masculine squeak when Sherlock pressed light kisses on each of his fingertips.

"But you have never denied yourself the possibility of being bisexual. Could it be because you saw someone close to you experience a change in sexuality." Yep, the lord was testing him and there was no way John would pass the test if Sherlock continued to press those incorrigible lips to his now trembling hand. Jesus christ now he felt like a fucking teenager on a hormone high, he couldn't even control his bloody hand from shaking from a few soft, luscious, sinful...sorry, just soft lips.

"You're absolutely right, of course you would be. It was my sister, Harry, I was sixteen when it happened. But just...how do you know?" John inched his body closer to Sherlock, genuine curiosity painted on his face. Sherlock found John's time weathered features absolutely adorable, endearing even and decided to play a completely different game.

"I made you curious about your sexuality. I'm honored, really, that I could change the mind of war veteran." Sherlock smirked when he reached his palm and licked a slick line down the middle. "You might have been in Afghanistan but in bed, you like to take your time, to go nice and slow and show whose in control at all times."

He didn't want to brag or anything, but it took a real man not to moan in the middle of a public place when you were basically being assaulted by a greek god. And with Sherlock's lips being as delicate as the wings on a butterfly, John definitely deserved an award or three.

"I could show you how incredible it can be to lose control for once, to let someone else take control." John felt a hand rest his thigh, one of the fingers was tracing a pattern into the fabric and eliciting shivers of pure desire. "You would look so gorgeous lying under me on the bed as I leave kisses all over your chest. I would spread your legs and put myself right in the middle and run my hands all over your body, to feel you, to feel every inch that I can." He was growing tired of the teasing but he was enjoying the private touches Sherlock was gifting him, the caresses, the attention that was only his to feel for the night.

"W-what makes you so sure that I would let you do that?" John knew that with all the shivering and stuttering that happened in that sentence alone he had given himself away but at least he is trying his best to play hard to get. _Yeah right._

Sherlock continued with his fantasy as if John had never spoken. "Oh, I can be cruel sometimes but in my defense it is my only defect in bed. I will make you writher and moan, even cry if I'm in the mood but I will absolutely not let you touch yourself not matter how hard you beg. Only I will be allowed to make you come and I will chose when and where you will come Captain."

"How would...Exactly how would you do it? Make me come. How would you make me come?" John had no self control now that the hand that had been on his thigh slide higher up into the inseam of his pants, mere inches from the cock going into a seizure.

"Now that is for me to know and for you to find out. I can't go around whispering my filthy wishes. What would the people think? No, I'll save that secret for when we get to my bedroom.I promise you won't be disappointed." The hand that was still connected to John's was given a light squeeze while the other hand was preforming more mischievous deeds crawling closer to his clothed erection.

"Your bedroom?" He spluttered. Sherlock must be joking. How can he possibly want John Watson to go home with him and especially get in a bed to preform sexual acts like he has described.

"Naturally," Sherlock sniffed as if he were slightly confused. "where else would we engage these sexual fantasies if not in the privacy of my bedroom." Then he made a face as if he had received a message from god himself. "Oh, but if you prefer other locations for these specific occasions such as the living room or kitchen, I can provide you with the accommodations."

Sherlock was so adorable when he was flustered and nervous trying to convince John to come home with him. "No. No, that's not what I meant Sherlock." Sherlock's face turned into a blank slate. "I meant to ask if you were serious about me coming home with you."

"Of course. Why wouldn't I be serious? If I said it, obviously I meant it." John had to giggle at the sightly annoyed look on Sherlock's face before he answered. He even leaned forward in Sherlock's direction to demonstrate how serious he was being.

"I never said you didn't mean it, I just wasn't sure someone like you could like someone like me."

"What difference is there between us? Well besides the fact that I can distinguish chemical solutions by sight and have an IQ higher than the members of Scotland yard." From anyone else, that comment would've undoubtably annoyed John and probably have won them a well deserve punch in the face. But coming from Sherlock, there was no malice in his words. He could actually do what he had said and he hadn't tried to show off.

"Well that's the point. You're incredibly smart and beautiful and young and so talented. I can't help feeling like a stupid, old doctor around you. I just don't get how you find anything good about me." The more vulnerable and hurt side of John Watson was creeping out.

Sherlock picked up the tracing of patterns on his thigh to soothe his distress. "John, you are anything but that. You are quite the opposite. From everyone in this bar, I chose you to talk to when there seems to be much more interesting people to be engaging with. As I said, it _seems_. No on here could possibly compete with you and the interesting life style you live." They shared a private smile before John came to realization.

"That's not true, Sherlock. Nothing ever happens to me. I'm not interesting, I'm dull and boring so how could you possibly know I can live a more dangerous lifestyle with all these injuries that aren't even real."

"Like I said, I don't know, but I can see. I've been watching you ever since I stepped through the door. It's not everyday you see a with perfect posture hold a cane and go to a bar with a jumper that he found in a discount store." If Sherlock was trying to make a point, John really couldn't see where he was going but he let the beautiful man continue talking.

Sherlock spread feather-light kisses down to the back of his hand to show John how much he truly affected the man with an ice heart. They morphed into open mouth kisses and John melted into a depressing puddle of muscle and bone, every one of his senses heightened and the combined sensation of both hands and their placements was growing to be too much. This _was_ John's first time with a man so he was allowed to have some room for error.

Sherlock must've sensed the intense wave of emotions rushing through John when he lowered their hands onto the bar counter yet he continued tracing his initials where his thigh met his pelvis. "So I watched you, and I kept watching you as you searched for the right woman, but you never found the right one did you? I hope that you wouldn't so that I could find my courage to talk to you."

John replayed the night in his head and paused when he remembered the woman in the booth (almost) confrontation. "If you don't count the one with the fiancé, then yeah." Shaky laughter that rumbled deeper than thunder came John's way and he found it incredibly breathtaking.

Sherlock raised their intertwined hands and began to play with John's fingers once more, this time, his face was schooled into feigned innocence. "Deep down you know what you crave is adventure, the heat of the moment, danger. A woman could never give you what you need. They would all bore you and keep you restrained, feeling older everyday, more useless. But John, I can offer you so much more if you give me the chance."

Sherlock was still in control of John's right hand, so he took John's thumb and brought it to the corner of his lips where the forgotten droplets of his drink laid. Sherlock used John's calloused thumb to wipe away at the stain and brought it to eye level for inspection. What John least expected was Sherlock to bring his own finger into the wet, warm heat of his mouth and lap at the milky dew with an attentive tongue.

John had had enough of restraining himself for one night and since Sherlock had began to play this game before him, fuck it. Fuck everyone and everything.

John whimpered when he felt the swirling motion of smooth muscle on his finger. He rocked his hips uncontrollably on the seat of his stool with his head tipped back. Eyes closed tight, preying for this moment to never end in case Sherlock changed his mind on his offer earlier.

Sherlock closed his mouth around the first joint of John's thumb and suckled lightly to release every possible dirty thought that had ever crossed his mind. Sherlock alternated the pressure of his tongue, and occasionally would send vibrating hums throughout John's finger simply to watch the hairs on his arms raise.

If this was his reaction to Sherlock teasing the tip of his finger, it would be safe to say that an investment in a cemetery plot would not be a bad idea. God is his witness and he would agree that he would be needing it sooner rather than later. What an awkward funeral ceremony that would be. Harry would have to explain to all of his army mates how he died. She would have to include Sherlock because of course he would invite the man that killed him to his funeral. It would only be fair.

Well, at least he would be dead and he didn't have to explain anything to anyone.

"Mmmm, yeah. What...what else can you offer me besides incredible sex that no one else can?" True, John found it difficult to speak about being pounded into by Sherlock when his brain was spilling from his ears but he was a captain at one point of his life so that must mean something.

"I can give you the danger, the adventure you've been searching for since you've come back from Afghanistan. When I came over to talk to you, I wasn't only looking for a round of wild sex at my flat. I knew there was something about you that screamed danger and here I am. I'm a detective for the Yard and I help them solve cases when they need help --which is always." Now that the abuse to his thumb had been paused, he looked at John with sparkling eyes. "I've been searching for a partner to help me with solving some crimes and I think I have finally found the right one. Let me take you home John. Let me help you and then you could help me."

John froze, "Wait. Are you asking me to help you run around London searching for murderers and look at dead bodies? You know that sounds insane right? Please tell me you now how ridiculous you sound?"

"John, as preposterous it may sound, I am being completely serious. And that's exactly what I just said. Were you not listening?" Sherlock looked like a precious posh child, all confused and annoyed.

"I'm supposed to be getting used to civilian life. Not throwing myself back into the trouble. And what if something goes wrong or I can't keep up with you?" He was growing weary of Sherlock's proposition but at the same time a bubble of anticipation was growing larger than his worries.

"John, take a chance. I can see it in your eyes that you want to be going down the streets of London with purpose. You won't have to walk down the roads anymore going to Tesco while wishing you could be doing something productive with your life. You want this, you need this, John. Take it. I will treat you right every step of the way. Well, taking in account my small flaw in bed but that's besides the fact." He beamed at John with such passion and conviction it could have made a hardened criminal smile. But John couldn't agree just yet even though his heart was already sold on the idea. His brain was the more sensible of the two and needed more convincing. Good to know at least he still had some self-preservation left in him.

"Why choose me?" He asked with a small voice. "I can't walk without limping. My shoulder is shite at best, and it hurts like a bitch most of the time. I'm too old to be of any use, and I'll only slow you down." Whispering the last words. "We don't even know each other. You won't like me when you do."

"I play the violin at all hours of the day especially when I'm thinking. Sometimes I don't talk for days on end and when I do talk I'm disrespectful and rude. I am incapable of cleaning after myself and have a tendency of exploding anything I can get my hands on even if they are not my belongings. Don't expect me to listen to any advice you give me, especially if it has to do with eating and sleeping since the body only requires a certain amount to fuel the brain. And if we do pursue a physical relationship, my libido is almost non-existent or I enjoy control too much." Sherlock was hurdling words at John, frantically searching in his eyes for any signs of understanding.

"What does this have to do with you picking me as your crime partner or starting a relationship with me?" The good doctor just couldn't see how these two broken pieces came together to make one.

"Everyone has their faults. Yours are your injuries and insecurity while mine are said to be my grotesque behavior and manipulation. I am willing to look behind your imperfections to find the John that instead of slapping me in the face for bashing his sexuality called me incredible, went far enough to call me brilliant even." He took both of John's hand in his and stared right into the sky blue wonder that is John Watson's eyes. "Will you do the same with me and look behind my faults? Even if you don't accept the partnership with The Yard, don't make me walk out of here alone. Don't make me walk out of that door without you by my side."

"You're serious about this? About the relationship even though we just met? About being partners?" Sherlock nodded without a second of hesitation and John knew his brain had enough evidence that Sherlock was the godsend he had needed ever since he returned from war.

"With you by my side, nothing would be impossible any more. My mind has been able to process more information in this past half hour in your presence than in the last two months of constant shifting. But as I said before, it could be dangerous. Lots of blood and injuries, perhaps an occasional hostage situation once a year. Nothing you couldn't handle."

"As you said, danger and I are old friends." John chuckled. Then sobering his face and applying slight pressure to their handhold, "Sherlock, I want to achieve the impossible with you."

Sherlock gave him a soft smile. Sentiment clouded Sherlock's eyes when he spoke again with a louder register. "I have never felt like a human before I've met you. People at work and sometimes even my family treat me with no emotion which is understandable since I myself show no sentiment towards them. But that doesn't mean I cannot feel. I do feel, I just don't want to. Weirdly, you make me want to feel every emotion that comes to mind. The happiness, the lust, trust, even the more tender feelings such as loyalty."

John remained quiet. He realized this was a difficult conversation for Sherlock to be having and he didn't want to say anything to put him off. But he needed to affirm to Sherlock what was going through his own head. "I can't say I'm not worried. I've never been with a man but somehow, you're not a man. You're Sherlock and that's much better." He giggled lightheartedly before continuing. "If you want me to be your partner in both a relationship and at work then I could not be happier. I actually think that you can be the making of the rest of my life."

Sherlock began with a whisper but his voice gained power as he went along. "John, please come back to 221B Baker street with me. Lay down in my bed and fall asleep on my chest listening to my heart beat faster and faster. Wake up the next morning to me playing with your hair, trailing a finger down your back while I press the lightest of kisses all around your face. Have tea with me after you shower and change into one of my bathrobes. Later on we can act out my fantasy but most importantly, don't leave me after that. Leave the bedsit paid for by the army and take the empty space next to me on my bed. All I ask is that you don't leave me. Can you do that for me?"

"Oh, _god_ yes."

Yep, it was definitely the whiskey that made him do this bit, the rest was purely his design. John pulled one of his hands out of Sherlock's grip. He used his newly freed hand to grab Sherlock's jaw and guide his gorgeous face closer to his.

John paused resting his forehead on Sherlock's when he was centimeters from tasting and devouring the other man's lips. He released the breath he had been holding in for the past decade. The one full of frustration and loneliness and the constant weight that had been dragging him down. He has been lifted and he now he was lighter than air.

"I would like nothing else, Sherlock." With that said, John softly leaned in to meet Sherlock's lips and he instantly felt at home, it felt right, so right. Every other person he had kissed had felt so strained and uncomfortable, John thought they simply had no chemistry between them. In actuality, his lips were waiting to be united with Sherlock's. But now with this heavenly mouth pressed against his, he saw the fireworks going off in the distance celebrating the union of the two misunderstood souls.

John slowly moved his lips against Sherlock's until both men were past the phase of shock and novelty. They fell into a rhythm when he parted his lips wider to glide his tongue tenderly on Sherlock's lower lip. John wasn't quite sure if the same rules applied with men when it came to deepening a kiss, but whatever he was doing, it seemed to be working.

Sherlock accepted his request and gladly opened his mouth giving John more access. A hesitant tongue nudged against John's and his heart swelled with an indescribable amount of adoration for the other man that he just had to tangle one of his hands into the nest of curls on Sherlock's head. His other hand fell to the man's waist as he hugged him as close as they could be without falling from their chairs. Their tongues were in a constant dance, skidding against each other in slow, languid swipes once the pace became heated and John's blood became liquid mercury.

John decided that he didn't want to taint their first kiss with the lewd level of arousal that was coursing through his veins. Sherlock was kissing him so gently, so preciously that John would never forgive himself if he pressured Sherlock to do something he wasn't comfortable with especially after the heartfelt confession the detective had made.

Just because he hadn't gotten laid in two years doesn't mean he has the right to push his sexual frustrations on this magnificent creature that by the looks of it, hasn't had much experience if any in the romance department. Well, besides in teasing other men to the point of coming, vivid imagery, and spectacular kissing.

After several more seconds of brief, innocent exploration, John forced himself to pull away from Sherlock's moist lips. "You said something about a flat on Baker street."

A face splitting grin snaked its way on Sherlock's face as he threw a few bills on the bar and grabbed John by his coat sleeve. It was a miracle they hadn't crashed through the door at the pace Sherlock was going as he called out into the late London sky, " _ **TAXI!**_ "

It wasn't until the next morning that both John and Sherlock noticed the missing cane.

**Author's Note:**

> An orgasm is actually a drink they sell at bars which I found quite surprising. Not because they have it but because it has to be extremely awkward to order no matter who you are. I wouldn't be able to keep my face straight. Well, this has been your daily fill on weird alcoholic beverages.


End file.
